


Better Than the Floor

by rickandmortysincave



Series: Blissful Ignorance [1]
Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Frottage, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rick and Morty - Freeform, Smut, Somnophilia, Underage - Freeform, commission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 06:44:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15724083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rickandmortysincave/pseuds/rickandmortysincave
Summary: Rick has been running Morty rampant on pointless adventures, but when they're forced to share a bed together, Morty decides that it might be time to flip the script.





	Better Than the Floor

**Author's Note:**

> This is a commission that was made possible by Ghosty, who is an absolute sweetheart with a good mind for spicy prompts. Thanks for the support! ♡

            “Rick, it’s getting kind of—kind of late, don’t you think?” Morty asks tiredly, fighting the urge to rub his eyes. Rick’s sudden bursts of late night recon missions haven’t been doing him any favors in the sleep department lately. It doesn’t help that the current one has lasted a total of twenty-three long, grueling hours. Morty swears he doesn’t know how Rick’s body can keep up.

            “Sh-Shut it, Morty. Y-You think I don’t know that? I’m tired too.”

            “Then maybe we can find somewhere to sleep?” Morty suggests, his tone clipped. Sometimes he thinks that Rick’s only goal in life is to take out his self-hatred on the both of them. Morty often wonders what he must have done in a past life to have deserved this kind of punishment.

             “God, Morty, do-do you have to be this much of a little bitch all the time?”

            Morty also often wonders why he hasn’t strangled Rick to death yet.

            “Look, Rick, all I’m asking is for a couple of hours to _lay down_. You do know that humans need sleep, right? Or have you finally lost touch with reality? I can’t keep going like this forever and neither can you.”

            “Jesus Christ, _fine_ ,” Rick sighs, hand dragging down his face in frustration. “If it’ll keep you from whining, then we’ll take a break. Are-Are you gonna reign in the bitching brigade now?”

            “Rick, sometimes y-you’re just so funny that I forget to laugh,” Morty says sarcastically, shaking his head like he can’t believe that he’s actually gotten himself into a situation this bizarre. And yet, here he is. It’ll be a blessing if Rick’s idea of a break is longer than an hour.

            “Yeah, well, being forgetful seems to be one of your strong suits,” Rick bites. Morty shrinks in on himself a little. “N-Now let’s go before I change my mind.”

-

            Morty doesn’t know whether or not he should be grateful that Rick actually picked a motel for them to sleep in. On the one hand, Morty wasn’t even expecting that Rick would actually choose a place with a bed for them to rest on. On the other, there only _is_ one bed. And that complicates things, in a way, doesn’t it? Being that close with Rick is…a little strange, if Morty has to admit. Rick never allows himself to be that vulnerable, not even when it’s just the two of them. Morty is getting a sinking feeling that he’ll somehow end up sleeping on the floor.

            “One bed?” He finally asks as Rick shuffles past him to discard his coat on a dingy looking rack.

            “This is all they had, alright? It’s a queen, so if that isn’t good enough there’s always the floor.” Morty guesses he wasn’t technically wrong, but Rick really _is_ offering. He has to admit that it’s pretty off-putting. Rick isn’t exactly known for being nice without reason. Morty doesn’t even want to think of motives. He’s too tired to really think at all.

            “Sure, whatever,” he agrees. He has to admit, the more he thinks about it, the more tempting the bed seems. Maybe it’s just his sleep deprivation talking.

            Morty ditches his shoes and slides onto the farthest edge of his side of the bed, tucking himself under the heavy comforter and letting himself close his eyes for a blissful second before Rick slips in beside him and his heart starts hammering suspiciously in his chest.

            “Christ, Morty, I-I don’t have a disease.”

            “That _I_ know of,” Morty mumbles, moving an inch or two backward to keep Rick from griping any further.

            “God, all of your jokes are so funny and original,” Rick says caustically.

            Morty exhales real slow and pretends that he’s not laying next to such an annoying person. “Goodnight, Rick.”

            “Yeah, night,” Rick grumbles in reply, body sinking down heavily into the pillows.

            Morty is too tired to be upset over Rick’s jaded attitude. He thinks about being back home, back in his own bed in his own house sleeping late on a Saturday afternoon when he didn’t have to worry about the threat of being dragged off on an adventure by a certain eclectic alcoholic. It’s not soon after that that he drifts off into another dreamless sleep, mind too exhausted to create its own images.

            But it’s a short-lived relief, because when Morty wakes up much too early with a weird sensation at his backside, he has a feeling that things are only going to get stranger the more he wakes up and truly realizes what’s going on.

            The first thing he can make out is an incredible warmth, like someone is holding a furnace to the length of his spine. He can’t deny how uncomfortable it is, and it’s then that he notices that he’s quite literally covered in sweat, wetness pooling at the base of his neck and drenching his hair with moisture.

            The second thing he realizes is even more unsettling to discover than the last. It’s not often that Morty feels something hard pressed against a place that it should definitely not be, but when it _does_ happen, it’s a feeling that’s distinct enough for him to recognize almost immediately.

            Oh, god. _Oh, god_. Morty tries to remind himself to breathe, to relax his body and not store all of his tension in the places that leave aches and pains in their wake. All he needs to do is think…think…

            Christ, what is he supposed to think about? The way he sees it, this whole thing can go one of two ways: he can either pretend that all of this never happened, that this memory was all just some bizarre dream that will haunt him at night when he starts to think about all of things that _could_ have happened, or he can stop ignoring all of the signals that his body is wrongfully sending to his brain and throw caution to the wind like only he and Rick know how to. Neither option seems ideal, if he’s being honest. He’s not going to walk away from this unscathed no matter what he chooses.

            “Rick,” he murmurs quietly, but the old man continues to sleep quietly beside him, his breathing the only sound to penetrate the awkward silence. It’s only when he shifts in the slightest of ways, causes a little spark of friction against Morty’s ass that has him clenching all sorts of muscles, that Morty decides to conduct a little experiment of his own. After all, he is still young, and his sudden arousal might not be Rick-related at all, but rather the result of an overactive sex drive that not even he himself can get a handle on. There’s really only one way to find out, isn’t there?

            Morty grinds upwards a little, let’s himself experience the sensations that spark across his frame and tells himself that this is Rick, not the erotic looking aliens or sexy locker room jocks that he often fantasizes about, but his real flesh and blood grandfather, the same one who harasses him, abuses his kindness, and fucks with his emotional stability, but it doesn’t seem to deter him in the slightest. Maybe he is a little more fucked up from all of this chaos than he originally thought.

            At any rate, Rick is still sleeping away soundly, shifting in little ways here and there that cause satisfied groans to sit deep down in Morty’s throat, threatening to escape at any moment. He has to decide now if he’s really going to do this, really going to flip the script by taking advantage of the situation at hand for once. He has to decide if it’s really worth it.

            And then, in one fell swoop, after allowing the thought to consume him, after weighing the pros and cons and throwing all forms of consequence out the window, Morty squares his shoulders, goes for Rick’s zipper, and says, “Oh, fuck it.”

            Normally Morty would be scared shitless to get this close to Rick on his own, to even dare to touch him in such a vulnerable state, but the adrenaline pumping in his veins right now is making it almost impossible for him to feel anything but blind arousal.

            Rick stirs a little when Morty loosens his belt, mumbles something incoherent and presses himself closer to his grandson’s side, but still fails to wake up to catch Morty in the beginning of the act…probably too drunk to notice much of anything, the poor bastard.

            Morty yanks down the front of Rick’s jeans a little and starts to feel him up experimentally, fingers dancing around the growing outline of Rick’s erection. He’s bigger than Morty had hoped, if he’s being honest. He’s not quite sure if he can eloquently handle just exactly what Rick is packing without getting caught. He decides to take it slow for as long as he can hold out.

            Squeezing himself gently around Rick’s thigh, Morty begins to edge himself back and forth, the solid friction against his cock enough to make him bite the soft flesh of his palm. He thinks of Rick, of how mean and terrible he can be, but it only seems to push him further, make him want more of this power that’s pumping through his veins. He unzips himself as quietly as he can manage and shifts so that he’s hovering over Rick now, really facing him as he presses himself nervously against the top of his leg and ruts down a little.

            So far, so good. Rick stays still beneath him, eyes relaxed and filled with the darkness that’s shielding him from the secret rendezvous that’s happening in the waking world. Morty continues his pace, slow and steady, sparks lighting up in his chest as he uses Rick’s body, each time pressing just a little harder, taking just a little more.

            Precum begins to soak the front of his underwear, leaks down the head of his aching dick until he can’t take the restriction anymore. Morty pulls himself out and stares at Rick’s groin with an embarrassing amount of need. Just a little should be enough, right?

            Rick lets out a moan that startles Morty a little when he releases his erection and runs his fingers cautiously down Rick’s shaft. It sends a sort of sick pride through Morty, seeing Rick so vulnerable and wanting in his unconscious state. He leans forward, allows their cocks to slide together for a moment, slick and hard and so fucking good that Morty almost doesn’t know what do with himself. Rick’s mouth opens a little at the sensation, small sounds of protest and pleasure escaping his lips as Morty presses their heads close and massages them with his thumb, cum mixing between them adding just the right amount of lubrication. Morty has to chew on the inside of his cheek to keep from making any noises himself.

            His thighs twitch as he comes closer, wraps his hands around the both of them so that they can fuck the space in between together, and Morty can’t help but think about how wrong this is and how much that that fact is getting him off.

            Rick starts to move a little despite himself, but Morty can’t stop, can’t even think to make his body quit this exquisite torture that he’s bestowing upon it by using someone that he justifiably has every right to use. Rick has taken so much from him. If a mind-blowing orgasm is all that Morty is going to get from him in return, then hey, at least that’s something.

            “Mm, don’t,” Rick murmurs to himself, lifting his hand slightly. Morty thinks that he’s going to have a heart attack when the old man’s fingers brush his thigh, but it’s too late, because the smallest jerk from Rick’s hips as he tries to move has Morty coming apart beautifully, gasping into the comfort of his hands as cum leaks from his aching cock onto the both of them. The wetness seems to perk up Rick’s senses, and he moans quite shamelessly in his sleep as Morty continues to jack him off through his own orgasm.

            It doesn’t take much persuading, really, just a couple of expert pumps and Rick’s muscle begin to tighten in preparation for his own release, his fingers gripping the milky skin of Morty’s thigh when he cums, panting and yet somehow still asleep, perhaps under the impression that he’s being treated so kindly by some being in his dreams, being felt up by the hands of someone other than his grandson. Morty is content to let him believe that as he falls back to his side of bed, cleaning up the mess as best as he can with a couple of tissues from the nightstand and tucking the both of them back into their pants respectively.

            He smiles to himself in the darkness as he closes his eyes, still riding the waves of his post-orgasm haze as he falls into the most peaceful rest he’s had in months.

-

            Rick wakes not much later with a start, eyes wide open as he tries to process the sensations he’s feeling while coming to. There’s an unmistakable wetness in his underwear, like he’s thirteen again and just got his first wet dream. He’s old enough to have control now, so why would he…?

            He looks over to Morty, sleeping peacefully beside him, notices just how close they are within proximity to each other, and suddenly he feels very, very nervous. He’s never had this issue before, never let the thought cross his mind when it came to doing anything…extracurricular with his own grandson, but now he’s not so sure that some sick, unknown part of him acted out some hidden desires while Morty slept beside him. And god, what if he wasn’t asleep at all? What if he was awake the whole time, traumatized as Rick used him to get off but refused to answer any questions or speak any explanations? Rick’s cheeks redden with embarrassment and also a little bit of fear.

            “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Sanchez,” he whispers, running a hand through his sweat-slick hair. Morty is still sleeping, still allowing Rick to lay beside him this closely without panic or anxiety. So maybe this was an isolated innocent, maybe something about Morty being this close set Rick off and he reacted in a way that he normally wouldn’t…

            He doesn’t know, and if Morty doesn’t either, then part of him, a large part, if he’s being honest, doesn’t want to know. He reaches across the bed to the nightstand and grabs the box of tissues, cleans himself up, pretends that Morty wasn’t right beside him as he blew his load, and tries not to feel so guilty.

            After all, there’s no sense in experiencing shame if he doesn’t really remember what happened, right?

            Rick stares up at the ceiling and tries to will himself to close his eyes before he can answer that question any differently.

            Right.


End file.
